My First Time Using a Sewing Machine

Photo By: jackmac34

I must have been about 9 or 10 when I first sat down at a sewing machine. My mother had set it up on this old 1990s table with white metal legs and a wood laminate top. The sewing machine itself was from the ’60s, a sturdy thing made of metal parts, with an exposed drive belt that I could watch for hours. It was mesmerizing. The belt moved in a loop as the machine ran, and I’d sit there, watching it blur as it spun.

Once, out of pure curiosity, I tried to reach over and touch it while my mother was sewing. She stopped everything and yelled, “Do not touch that, or you’ll lose a finger!” That warning was so terrifying that I didn’t dare go near it again while she was sewing. Later, though, when the machine was safely unplugged, I reached out and finally got to touch it. The belt felt rubbery, thick, and slightly textured—like a giant rubber band with teeth on one side, almost like a gear. At least, that’s how I remember it now.

Photo By: Johanna84

The chairs we had were wooden and far too big for me; I had to point my toes and stretch out my legs just to graze the floor. My mother was only 5'4" herself, so she’d built a little platform to raise the sewing pedal to a more comfortable height. When she decided to teach me, she took down her platform, set me up in the chair, and adjusted the pedal so I could reach it.

I was equal parts excited and terrified. I remember thinking that one wrong move might make the needle snap or jam, or worse, that I might lose a finger. Just to be safe, I grabbed my swimming goggles and put them on, imagining the needle might fly off and hit me in the eye. I even put on my winter gloves—the thick, fluffy kind that made it nearly impossible to move my fingers well—just to be extra careful. When my mother saw me sitting there, ready for my first lesson in my full protective “gear,” she burst out laughing and had to take a picture. Somewhere in the house, that photo is probably still floating around.

By the end of that first sewing lesson, I’d managed to thread the machine and even stitched a few lines without the gloves on. I think I kept the goggles around my neck for safety, though. The machine was loud, louder than I’d expected, and the drive belt moved so fast that it was almost a blur. I was nervous with each push of the pedal, but by the end, I felt such a thrill.

That first experience wasn’t perfect, and I didn’t make anything special, but I was proud of myself. I’d learned something that day, not just about sewing but about facing fears. Little did I know then that sewing would grow into a passion of mine, one stitch at a time.

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